


A Piece Of Happiness

by gggghik, Skystorm14113



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Beethoven, Bisexual Harry, Domestic, Draco Is In Love With Harry, Draco pov, Drarry, French Speaking Draco, Gay Draco, Grimmauld Place, Harry pov, La vie en rose, M/M, Piano, Post-War, Slow Burn, draco tries to burn the dark mark off, eventual action of self harm-burning, just warning you now, no plan or anything draco just wishes he had died, piano playing draco, possibly triggering suicidal thoughts and speech, slightly oblivious!Harry, switching POVs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-05-25 16:38:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14981201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gggghik/pseuds/gggghik, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skystorm14113/pseuds/Skystorm14113
Summary: "He has entered into my heartA piece of happinessthe cause of which I know full well."~Edith Piaf, "La Vie En Rose"The Malfoy Manor is being searched and investigated after the war, leaving Narcissa and Draco Malfoy without a home. Andromeda steps in, promising a place to stay for both of them: Her sister, Narcissa, at her house, and Draco at Grimmauld Place with none other than Harry Potter. You know the story, Draco loves Harry, they get along better than they thought they would, Harry falls in love with Draco etc, etc. Also Draco is a mess when it comes to understanding anything about how muggles live.





	1. Chapter One

“I’m sorry, _what_?”

Harry stared incredulously at the woman in front him. He and Andromeda were sat at the dining room table in her cottage, both situated with cups of tea and separated by a tray filled with chocolate biscuits. Teddy had been tucked into his crib for a nap upon Harry’s arrival, and the toddler was still sleeping soundly, despite Harry’s outburst.

Andromeda sighed, tucking a strand of graying hair behind her ear before looking up at Harry with pleading eyes.

“The Malfoy Manor is set to be raided and searched by the ministry on Friday and will most likely continue to be for the rest of the summer. They haven’t offered up housing for Narcissa or Draco so I’ve said that I would take them into my care...only…”

Harry dropped his face into his hands, readying himself to hear the request yet again.

“I don’t have room for Draco. He said he’d be perfectly fine sharing the guest room with his mother but honestly, Harry, he’s a boy of eighteen and I’m sure the last thing he wants is to share a tight living space with his mother for the unseeable future. So I was wondering, if it would be at all possible, for him to be able to live with you at Grimmauld? Possibly?”

Harry met her eyes again, “Has he tried Leaky?”

Andromeda pressed her lips into a tight line, “He tried to before Narcissa even came to me in the first place. Apparently having the remaining two Malfoys under their roof would be off-putting and frightening for some of the guests so they’ve been refused. And besides, no place would be willing to house two people for a few months regardless of who they were.”

Harry chewed his lip, considering.

“And what does Malfoy have to say on the matter?”

“Well,” Andromeda began warily, “I was kinda hoping I’d get your permission before I tried to pitch it to him.”

Harry huffed out a bitter laugh, “I can guarantee you he’s going to say no.”

Andromeda nodded, “I know he’ll be hard to convince so I was hoping that with you-”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he kinda hates my guts.”

Andromeda smiled sadly, “and I’m quite sure he believes the same of you but the truth of the matter is that it simply isn’t true.”

Harry sighed, “yeah, well, just because I don’t hate him doesn’t mean I like him. But…”

Andromeda’s face broke into a hopeful smile, “but?”

Harry groaned.

“I suppose Grimmauld Place is rather large and allows for two people to live under the same roof without having to cross paths too often, so I guess, if-if he agrees, we may be able to get through the summer without killing each other.”

Andromeda stood happily and clapped her hands together.

“Thank you so much, Harry, dear, truly. You have no idea how grateful we are for everything you’ve done.”

 

* * *

“No, absolutely not, no, no, a hundred times no.”

“Draco, dear, please hear us out,” Narcissa begged from her spot on the couch, and Draco could swear even through the embers in the fireplace that he saw the same pleading expression in his aunt’s eyes.

He should’ve known then when his mother and aunt had wanted to speak with him what they really meant was corner him.

Draco huffed and crossed his arms around his chest, “very well, but the answer will remain the same regardless.”

“You surely remember Grimmauld, the only spaces you’ll be sharing are the kitchen and the bathrooms. Otherwise, you most likely won’t even have to associate,” Andromeda stated.

“And, Draco, it would do you good to put away the past you have with Harry and try and get on some good footing. There’s not many left who are willing to forgive. Is your dislike for the boy so strong that you would refuse the olive branch so graciously handed to you?”

Draco flopped back into the couch in a very undignified manner, shaking his head in frustration.

“No, that isn’t the point. The point is I’m tired of being given handouts from Potter. Hasn’t he done enough?”

Narcissa breathed out a sigh and placed her hand gently on Draco’s knee, “he’s done more than enough for us, Draco. I understand. I don’t want to have to push ourselves any further into his life than necessary. But here, he’s offered, and where else would you be able to stay?”

“The streets?” Draco offered.

“Draco, love, that is entirely out of the question,” Andromeda responded, “and besides, I’ve already told him that you’ve agreed.”

Draco blanched, “you’ve _what_?”

“I’ve told him you’ve said yes. He’ll be expecting you Friday.”

“You two are absolutely mad, you do realize he hates me don’t you?”

Andromeda, for whatever reason, seemed to find this amusing and laughed, which had Draco scowling at his feet.

“He does not hate you. And he eagerly awaits your arrival, so I’d suggest you get packing.”

Draco stood sharply gritting out a very harsh ‘fine’ before taking off of the stairs.

Narcissa smiled at the face of her sister in the fireplace, “you told Harry he said yes already, did you now?”

“I haven’t, however seeing as Draco has just agreed, I suppose it’s time to let him know, wouldn’t you think?”

* * *

Draco was fuming as he sat on his bed, wordlessly summoning clothes and items into suitcases. Clothes and items that would be checked and examined before he would be whisked away to spend the next few months with fucking Harry Potter.

Of course. The past three years have proved that life was hell bent on not being easy on him, so why would it start now? If he wasn’t to spend a hard life in Azkaban, his punishment would be to spend a hard life out of it.

At this point, Draco didn’t see the point in even spending his life at all. Quite frankly, he’d like to get rid of it.

Aggravated he threw his wand (given back to him by _fucking_ Harry Potter), looked up at the ceiling of his room, (which he was in instead of a cell thanks to _fucking_ Harry Potter) and flopped down onto his bed (where he’d very much like to be _fucking Harry Potter_ ).

And therein lies the most pressing problem of this situation.

That problem being that Draco Malfoy was undeniably, irrefutably, and unfortunately in love with Harry Potter.

It had taken him a very long time to accept this fact. It had started as just a childhood infatuation, a reverent crush that came of the stories his mother would whisper to him about the boy who lived. There really wasn’t much to it, as Draco was more fascinated with the concept of Harry Potter than who the boy might actually be. That didn’t stop him from being excited to meet him of course, on that first day at Hogwarts where the little git that was eleven year old Draco would find himself dealing with overwhelming jealousy that Potter had chosen the Weasley boy over him. So, he did as his father would do. Forged that jealousy into hatred. Hatred that he found himself believing as well, even through the increasing attraction he felt towards Potter as he grew older. Besides, he had told himself, just because you find yourself incredibly attracted to someone doesn’t mean you can’t hate them.

He started to realize that his hatred was anything but the minute he met the creature that was Lord Voldemort. He knew what real hatred was after that. Voldemort could hate. Voldemort was hate. Vile, cruel, unabashed hatred shoved into the sinewy, shell of the creature that was the Dark Lord. There were only two things Draco could find himself able to focus on when he was near- fear and Harry Potter. The fear was consuming, driving, manipulating. Harry was hope, and maybe it was the infatuated child inside Draco that thought so, but deep inside himself he believed that so long as Harry was alive that there was a chance. A chance that the monster that had been released back into the world might be taken out once and for all.

It was the moment that the dark mark had been seared into his flesh that he began to fall apart. He thought he could be strong. He thought he could be cruel. He thought that when he gave himself over the knife that had twisted itself into his heart would be taken away and he wouldn’t have to feel the terrible things he was committing to. But he was wrong. He couldn’t be a killer. He could never be a killer. He couldn’t be his father. He’d been full of such anger at himself. That day in the bathroom when Harry confronted him and shot him with the sectumsempra was his first taste of relief. The pain had been immense, and Draco deserved every ounce of it. He had been ready to throw the Unforgivable at Harry. To prove he could be cruel. That he wouldn’t find himself shackled by empathy and love. Harry struck him first. Draco was glad for it.

It was the day in the manor that had made Draco certain. The minute Greyback sent message that he had possibly caught Potter, Draco felt his blood freeze in his veins. They had called him to identify whether or not the disfigured man they had brought along with the “possible” Granger and Weasley was Potter. Immediate denial would’ve been their deaths just as much as admission. He knew it was Potter, knew it was him like he would’ve known himself. His face may have been morphed but his eyes were still his, defiant and stubborn and oh so wonderfully good. He’d claimed uncertainty. A claim that would give them time, and did give them time. He’d known what love felt like when his entire body felt like it had been holding its breath only to let it go at the apparition that had taken the three of them and Dobby away. He’d known because the sight of Harry, disfigured with his eyes flashing as he disappeared had been the most beautiful thing Draco had seen in his life. Despite the anger from his father and Aunt Bellatrix and the sounds of Granger’s screams that he had thought would forever echo in his brain, he had dreamt for the first time in a year. He’d dreamt of a green eyed boy with wild dark hair and strong, tanned hands.

He was in love with Harry Potter and he’d never been more sure of anything in his life than when he’d found himself surrounded by flames only to have those same hands pull him from the heat. He had wrapped himself tight against him, this boy who represented hope and love.

And after that, Draco didn’t want to remember anything else that had happened that night. He didn’t need to. Not when the faces of those lost visited him in his nightmares, not when the image of the limp body of the boy he loved was present every time he closed his eyes.

And now, here he was, heading off to live with him.

Draco took a shuddering breath. It was going to be long few months.


	2. Chapter Two

Draco stood poised by the fireplace, tapping his foot impatiently as the auror assigned to check his luggage sifted through his toiletry bag. Which was taking even longer than the two full cases of clothes. Evidently the man had never seen products that were necessary for proper hair and skincare. The only hair grease he was probably familiar with was the kind that resulted from days without showering, or perhaps what happened when he rubbed his thick hands over his oily mug and into his hair. But Draco bit his tongue, only letting his annoyance show with his foot and some uncontrollable facial tics. The last thing he needed was to be locked up for having a row with an auror over pomade. 

“Alright, kid,” the auror said gruffly after what felt like an eternity, “your, er, stuff is all set here.”

The man dropped his toiletry bag atop the rest of Draco’s luggage and wiped his hands off on his jeans as if just touching Draco’s things would infect him with some kind of disease.

“The Floo is all set for you to travel safely now,” he assured, “you know where you’re going?”

“Yes,” Draco replied shortly, agitated at both the stupidity of such a question and the reminder of where exactly he would be going.

“Draco, please do behave yourself,” his mother pleaded, coming over to him to fiddle with his shirt collar which most certainly didn’t need fiddling, “and please say hello and thank you to Harry for me.”

I will do no such thing, Draco thought, fully planning on becoming mute for three months but instead replied, “Yes, Mother, of course.”

“And do come visit your Aunt Andromeda and I, and as Edward is Harry’s godson I’m sure he’ll plan on seeing him, you should accompany him.”

“Of course,” Draco answered, not.

“I love you,” she finally said, sighing and kissing him on the cheek, “keep well.”

Draco wasn’t sure how to keep well considering he’d never had it in the first place but he nodded, gave his mother a small smile, and stepped into the fireplace with his luggage. Tossing floo powder down he reluctantly gritted out, ‘12 Grimmauld Place’, and was gone.

 

* * *

The clock in the sitting room struck three and Harry’s eyes went from it to the fireplace. At any moment, Malfoy would be appearing inside of it.

Harry wasn’t sure how this was going to go. Despite knowing full well that Malfoy would come swooping in, obviously neatly put together with a collared shirt, tailored trousers and a disapproving scowl as he sized up the dismal living quarters, Harry had settled with jeans and grey t-shirt. If the git planned on living with him he shouldn’t come to expect anything more from Harry. 

True enough, a few minutes after three the fireplace was alight with a familiar green bringing with it a very impatient looking Draco Malfoy, collared white shirt and all.

Harry watched as Malfoy climbed out the fireplace. Harry let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. The last time he had seen Malfoy was his trial. His face was gaunt, his eyes tired and fixated on the ground. He had only looked up when they asked if he’d like to make a testimony to which he answered with a slow shake of his head. Harry, of course, had stood up and testified for him, an act that would lead to Malfoy’s acquisition. He hadn’t looked in Harry’s direction once.

Harry was glad to see, though, that even after three weeks Malfoy’s face seemed a bit fuller and his posture straight and dignified. Harry never thought he’d be relieved to see a healthy, arrogant Malfoy, but there had been something so unnerving in seeing him so broken. It wasn’t something he’d like to see again.

And here he was now, still avoiding Harry’s eyes.

He sighed, “Your bedroom’s upstairs, do you need help carrying your things?” 

Malfoy winced and his grey eyes finally flashed to Harry’s.

“Please, Potter, I’m not so fragile that I can’t manage to bring luggage up a flight of stairs without help from you.”

“Er,” Harry stuttered, “I only meant that Kreacher could take them up for you, if you’d like.”

Malfoy seemed to deflate at that.

“Oh. Right, Kreacher. I didn’t expect you to keep him on, what with how Granger feels about house elves.”

Harry gave a small laugh at that, “Yeah, well she’s not too thrilled about it when she comes over. He can be useful, though. And I’ve never lived in such a big space on my own before, he’s not good company but he’s company.”

“Is that how you reasoned through this arrangement then?” Malfoy asked, stepping away from his luggage to cross his arms around his chest and survey the place thoughtfully, “I haven’t been here in ages.” 

Deciding to ignore the question, Harry cocked his head to the side, “you’ve been here before?”

Draco rolled his eyes, “Of course, Potter, my mother grew up here. Granted, I’ve only ever been here a few times as a child. Still as dark and stoic as ever though, I see. Anyways, you said something about a bedroom?”

“Oh, right, yeah,” Harry said before calling out, “Kreacher!”

The disgruntled house elf appeared after a moment, fingers nervously twisting down the sides of his tattered pillowcase that was fashioned into a tunic.

“Kreacher, could you take Malfoy and his luggage to his room?”

At the name, Kreacher’s head went up and blinked a few times at Malfoy before something that could only be described as a smile came across his face.

“Young master Draco,” he greeted, “Kreacher is pleased that you are staying.”

Harry watched Malfoy give the house elf a small smile as he handed over his luggage.

“I’m sure my presence will be quite refreshing,” Malfoy answered, with a side look at Harry. He had trouble finding the usual bite behind it.

Harry shook his head with an almost amused smile, “I’ll try not to take that as an insult.”

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow looking slightly surprised at the smile on Harry’s face, “Don’t try too hard.”

They both watched Kreacher disappear with the luggage and Harry nodded in the direction of the staircase.

“He’ll be waiting at the top.” 

Malfoy nodded and walked to the staircase only to pause, hesitating before saying, “Potter...you didn’t have to do this.”

“I know.”

“Any of it,” Malfoy clarified, focusing his steely gaze on Harry.

Harry shrugged and found himself looking down, “I just did what was right.”

He kept his eyes on the floor and could hear Malfoy ascend up the stairs. Once he was gone, Harry looked up to where he had been, realizing now that that had most likely been Malfoy’s version of a ‘thank you’.

Weird.

* * *

Draco sat on the edge of the full size bed, hands smoothing over the embroidered comforter. He looked around at the room, smaller than what he had at the Manor, but sizeable enough to be comfortable. He let himself take a breath and settle into the fact that this was indeed happening. He was living in a house with Harry Potter. Harry Potter who greeted him in a t shirt that fell so wonderfully over his chest and a relaxed pair of jeans that hung lower on his hips than Draco was used to seeing.

And if that hadn’t been distracting enough, he had to go ahead and smile, at him, after Draco had made an attempt at a subtle insult. Harry was becoming more and more insufferable the longer Draco thought about him.

Draco stood and began the act of using his wand to unpack his suitcases and distribute clothes into the dresser, books onto the dresser, and two extra pillows onto the bed. He dropped his toiletry bag on top of the dresser and stared at his reflection, reaching up to fix where his hair had been unsettled by the Floo and dusting the remaining ash off of his shoulders. 

There was a light, hesitant rap on the door. Of course. 

Draco let out a sigh, “Come in.”

Harry opened the door enough to peak his unruly head in.

“I know it’s probably smaller than you’re used to but-”

“It’s fine, Potter, really,” Draco cut him off, the politeness of Harry’s tone so foreign it put him on edge. 

“Yeah? Okay, good,” Harry replied, seeming surprised and pleased, “anyway, I wasn’t sure how you wanted to go about dinner. Kreacher isn’t too keen on cooking. There’s food in the kitchen cupboards you can help yourself to for breakfast and lunch, and I don’t know how your culinary skills are but I can cook pretty well, unless you’d rather order or go out.”

Draco bit his lip. His culinary skills were very much nonexistent. He’d never had any reason to learn. He didn’t know what “order” meant and was most definitely not going to give Harry the satisfaction of explaining it. As for going out to eat, he’d only have the choice of muggle restaurants as Grimmauld was a decent way away from any wizard establishments, and Draco hadn’t the slightest idea of how those worked and again, wasn’t going to give Harry the satisfaction of explaining. He’d have to ask Harry to cook dinners for him. Or maybe he could just not eat. Yes. Starving sounded a lot nicer than the thought of Harry making dinner just for the two of them. Which Draco would then be expected to join him for. Where they’d eat. Together. 

“Yeah, I-” Draco cleared his throat, relenting, “it would be better if you, uh, if you cooked. If you don’t mind.”

Oh boy, he could feel the blush that had crept its way up to his cheeks. 

“Okay,” Harry nodded, “I usually don’t eat until later in the evening so I’ll have Kreacher come get you when it’s ready. Uh, you can feel free to look around, er, if you’d like. My room is the last one on the right, if you need me.”

“I think I can manage.”

“Right. Okay. Well, see you later, I guess.”

And with that, Harry left, closing the door soundlessly behind him.


	3. Chapter Three

It was around 6:30pm that Harry had finished dinner. He’d made spaghetti, figuring it was easy enough and would allow for leftovers.

 

He was still kind of unsure of what to think about the fact that Draco Malfoy was in his house. His guest, no less. Of course, it wasn’t as though Harry had any obligation to treat him as such. He didn’t have to make dinner, but he knew the self-entitled prat most likely had never even seen a pot and pan in his life, or a takeout menu for that matter. What was Harry supposed to do? Let the helpless git starve?

 

Harry knew what it was like to feel unwanted in a house, and definitely knew how it felt to starve. He didn’t care who it was; if they were under his roof, they were getting fed.

 

Boy, he was starting to sound like Molly Weasley.

 

His only wish for dinner was that it wouldn’t be as awkward as their first two obligatory conversations. Harry was trying his best to be polite; while he wasn’t chuffed to have Malfoy living with him he knew Malfoy hated this situation even more. As much as he wished he didn’t, Harry knew Malfoy. He knew that he must’ve had to swallow down a lot of pride to agree to this.

 

Harry had just finished putting together the plates when Malfoy came quietly down the stairs. Harry looked up at him and saw his face reflecting quiet confusion.

 

“What’s that?” Malfoy asked, and must’ve quickly realized how rude it sounded because he followed up with, “I’ve never seen it before.”

 

 _What?_ “What, spaghetti?”

 

“Oh, so that’s spaghetti? I suppose I should’ve been able to guess,” Malfoy conceded, walking over to gingerly pick up the plate, still looking at it as if it was something foreign, which, Harry supposed it was.

 

“Are you telling me you’ve never had spaghetti?” Harry pressed on, still in disbelief.

 

“Well, they never served it at Hogwarts and most certainly never served it at the Manor,” Malfoy answered, “my parents probably thought it was too messy.”

 

Harry shrugged, “it’s really easy to make and to have some leftover. My aunt used to have me make it at least once a week.”

 

Malfoy looked up at him quizzically, “You have an aunt?”

 

“Yeah, my mother’s sister. She’s who I lived with before. You know, the muggle family I grew up with. Her, her husband, and their son,” Harry answered, finding himself surprised that he and Malfoy were having what would be considered civil conversation.

 

“Why on earth would you cook for them?”

 

“Well, it’s not exactly like I wanted to,” Harry answered before rolling his eyes, “are you going to eat it?”

 

Malfoy scowled at him, “Yes, I am going to eat it. I’m not rude.”

 

Harry laughed sharply, “Right, obviously not. My mistake. I had forgotten how much of a kind peach you were.”

 

“Well now, I never claimed to be kind, nor would I ever claim to be a peach. I just stated that I wasn’t rude.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes again, grabbed his plate and sat down at the small table in the kitchen. He looked up to see Malfoy looking at him uncomfortably.

 

“There’s a dining room you can sit in,” Harry sighed, “I won’t be offended.”

 

Malfoy looked at him and nodded curtly before walking out of the room.

 

Harry never minded eating alone, and he meant it when he said he wasn’t offended (this whole conversing with his old adversary was weird to him too), but it still felt strange sitting in silence when there was someone in the other room he could talk to.

 

You and Malfoy aren’t friends, his brain reminded him, he just needs somewhere to stay.

 

And with that, Harry continued on eating, telling himself it wasn’t much different than any night he’d spent in the house alone.

 

* * *

 

Draco opened the top left drawer in the black walnut dresser and took out a towel and his pajamas. Throwing the former over his shoulder and tucking the latter under his arm, he grabbed his toiletry bag and made his way into the hallway.

 

If his memory served him right, the bathroom with the bathtub was down the hall across from what was now Harry’s room. Draco took a breath and continued on to it quietly, sending a silent wish to the universe that he wouldn’t have to interact with Potter again tonight. Dinner had been a wonderfully uncomfortable end to their socialization for the day.

 

The spaghetti was actually very good, and once he had started eating it Draco was glad he hadn’t sat with Harry. He was right about it being messy, it was hard to eat without getting sauce on your lips. The last thing he needed was Potter having a field day over the fact that Draco was incapable of eating a plate of food without making a mess of himself.

 

At this point in his life Draco should have realized that the universe was not on his side and that wishing at it would just prove to be more disastrous than letting it be, because the minute Draco reached the bathroom, Harry emerged and almost ran into him.

 

A very shirtless Harry. In maroon flannel pajama bottoms. Standing about five inches away from Draco. His mouth went dry.

 

“Oh sorry,” a very shirtless Harry apologized, “I didn’t even hear you in the hallway.”

 

Draco nodded, not trusting himself to speak. His eyes quickly flashed across the expanse of bronze skin dusted with dark chest hair that was on display before settling safely on Harry’s forehead, where his hair was mussed and covering his scar.

 

“Uh, there’s a shower in there now, by the way. Ron and his brother Bill helped me set it up when they were here. It takes a minute or two to warm up though.”

 

Harry moved around him and Draco couldn’t help but glance behind him.

 

 _Yes, he is indeed shirtless from the back as well_ , Draco assessed dumbly, _Merlin’s fucking beard._

 

Draco had the curve of Harry’s shoulder blades and the dip of his lower back permanently seared into his mind within the few seconds it took Harry to turn around again. Draco’s eyes immediately flicked away again.

 

“If you, uh, have any issues just let me know,” Harry said, sounding confused and unsure, “er, goodnight?”

 

Draco cleared his throat at that and finally met Harry’s eyes, “Gonna read me a bedtime story and tuck me in, Potter?”

 

Harry, curse him, laughed, causing his chest to rise and fall in a very endearing and distracting manner.

 

“I’m just being polite. I figured living together might be made more bearable if we at least tried to get along.”

 

Draco scowled, “We aren’t friends.”

 

Harry’s smile faltered.

 

“No, I suppose not. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be civil to one another, yeah?”

 

Draco didn’t answer, choosing to instead move his gaze to the ground.

 

“I’ll take silence as agreement,” Harry said with a cocky grin, “and I’ll need to do a raincheck on that bedtime story, I’m exhausted.”

 

With that, he turned back around and headed into his room.

 

Draco found himself able to breathe again and quickly ducked into the bathroom, closing the door and locking it.

 

He had been quite aware of the fact that the once scrawny Potter had filled out a bit in the time he had spent on the run, but Draco had not anticipated that. He was all lithe muscles complete with a toned chest and an abdomen that lead to some very distracting hip bones.

 

“I’m fucked,” Draco whispered to himself, remembering the dark trail of hair underneath Harry’s belly button that disappeared into the waistline of his bottoms.

 

Draco groaned and unbuttoned his top, trying not to be self-conscious with his more tall and slim figure. He was toned too, sure, but not with the same build as Harry.

 

Finally free of his clothes, Draco turned the taps on and waited for the water to heat up. He was going to need a long shower after that encounter.

A very long shower.

 

* * *

 

_Harry could feel the solid ground beneath him, cold and unyielding. His whole body was alight with icy fire, the pain flowing through his veins. Something told him not to open his eyes._

_Something like a tight rubber rope was wrapped around his arm, and it was moving. A small velvet thing flicked around his shoulder. A voice was speaking in a cruel, harsh tone._

_“Kill, Kill, Kill…”_

_Harry wanted to yell out, to object, but he was frozen. Behind his eyelids all Harry could see was blinding green light._

_A different voice this time, a violent whisper that curled around his ear._

_“Avada Kedavra!”_

 

Harry woke up gasping, finding himself shivering despite the warmth of the room. He took a few moments to breath and take in his surroundings.

 

He was at Grimmauld. In his room. He’d had a nightmare.

 

With one more gulp of air, Harry stood and picked up a shirt thrown haphazardly on the floor before tugging it on. He rubbed his hands over his face and ran them through his hair before his arms fell limp at his sides. It had been three weeks since the war had ended and months since Harry had been able to go a night without nightmares. He wondered if there’d ever be a time when they stopped.

 

He sighed and quietly stepped out of his room and made his way to the bathroom. He let the water from the sink run warm over his hands before he cupped it and washed it over his face.

 

A muffled cry startled him and he jumped before peeking his head out into the hallway. The door to Malfoy’s room was cracked and suddenly lit up with the light glow of a desk light.

 

 _He must have nightmares too_ , Harry thought before relaxing and grabbing a hand towel to dry his face and hands with.

 

Harry didn’t want to think of the nightmares that must plague Malfoy. He had lived with Voldemort in his home, had watched him torture and murder. For all Harry knew, Malfoy had partaken in some of it himself. And worse, if he had, Harry knew it was against his will. To torture unwillingly was a form of torture in and of itself.

 

In addition to that, Malfoy had spent a week in unforgiving Azkaban. Harry still remembered second year when Hagrid had returned after his week there, the life seemingly sucked out of him. From how Malfoy had looked at his trial, Harry could only imagine how hard that week had been.

 

Sighing, he leaned his back against bathroom door frame and stared at the cracked door down the hall. After a while, the light went out and Harry relaxed before standing up straight and making his way back to his room.

 

Harry knew that a part of him was broken, and maybe there was a part of Malfoy that was broken too.


	4. Chapter Four

 

Draco woke up for the second time at Grimmauld Place around nine in the morning, thankful for the fact that his second round of sleep had produced no nightmares. 

 

He climbed out of bed immediately, unwilling to sit and remember once again the fire and screams that had intruded his sleep last night. He took off his silver silk pajamas (unlike Potter, Draco had no intention on walking around the house in his nightly attire) and pulled on a pair of chinos (as he was not a heathen who would be found wearing  _ jeans _ ) and a gray cashmere sweater. After a trip to the bathroom to wash his face and style his hair, Draco headed downstairs.

 

Harry was already sitting at the table at the kitchen eating something out of a bowl and writing out a letter. While Draco had been hoping he was still sleeping, he was at least glad to see that the boy was clothed, even if it was in a old looking t-shirt and the same flannels from last night. A very shirtless Harry was not ideal if Draco planned on being able to breathe.

 

Harry looked up at Draco as he walked into the kitchen.

 

“You’re already dressed?”

 

“Yes, Potter, some of us like to be presentable before noon,” Draco replied, eyeing Harry’s maroon bottoms with distaste, “though I suppose I should be glad you aren’t the type of bum that lounges around in their pants.”

 

“Well then, I’m a bum and you’re an arse,” Harry fired back, looking back down at his letter, “and here I thought we didn’t have anything in common.”

 

Draco sighed, deeming this battle lost. He decided to focus instead on Harry’s idea of a breakfast, which appeared to be several tiny things floating around in some milk.

 

“Do I even want to know what it is that you’re eating?” Draco asked.

 

Harry looked up at him in astonishment, “No way. First, you’ve never had spaghetti and now you’re telling me you don’t know what cornflakes are?”

 

Draco rolled his eyes, “Am I supposed to know what cornflakes are?”

 

“Jeez, Draco. I know you were raised with a silver spoon but I didn’t know you’d never used it for cornflakes. It’s a cereal.”

 

Draco stared at him blankly.

 

“I mean I guess it might be a muggle food but come on, Wheaties? Lucky Charms?”

 

“Lucky Charms?”

 

“You know? They’re magically delicious?” 

 

“How can a muggle food be magically delicious?”

 

Harry sighed and rubbed his temples, “It’s a slogan.”

 

“Oh,” Draco said, “so, they’re metaphorically magical.”

 

“Yes. Now would you like some? Cuz it’s either cereal or granola bars unless you plan on going to the store.”

 

Draco opened his mouth to ask what granola bars were but decided that he didn’t want another lecture on muggle cuisine. 

 

“I’ll be fine with some tea. You do have tea, don’t you?”

 

Harry gave him an exasperated look just as the sound of a kettle going off filled the room.

 

“Sit down, I’ll get your bloody tea,” Harry told him, standing to go to the stove.

 

“I like it with-” Draco started as he pulled out the chair across from Harry’s.

 

“Milk and two sugars, I know,” Harry cut him off, his back to Draco as he opened a cupboard to grab tea bags.

 

Draco felt himself blush, “How do you know?”

 

“We spent six years sneering at each other over meals, Malfoy. I bet you know how I like my tea too.”

 

“I-I do not!” Draco stuttered out defiantly. 

 

Harry gave him another tired look over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows. Draco found himself sinking back into his chair and turning his gaze out the window.

 

“Black, like a commoner,” he mumbled.

 

“I don’t mind some bitterness,” Harry shrugged, mixing Draco’s tea before bringing both of the mugs over and setting them on the table.

 

“Thank you,” Draco murmured, lifting the mug to his lips as Harry sat down.

 

He watched as the Harry grabbed his pen and continued writing on the paper in front of him. It was proving to be a very muggle morning. 

 

“What is that?” Draco asked, nodding at the paper.

 

Harry glanced up at him and Draco wondered for a brief second if he was overstepping.

 

“A reply to Molly Weasley. She asked how I was doing and if I’d like to have dinner with her, Ginny, and George.”

 

Draco felt what had to be jealousy stir in his stomach at hearing the name of the Weasley girl.

 

“Oh right, I’d almost forgotten about your girlfriend. She not ready to move in yet?” Draco asked, despite knowing he’d be unable to keep all contempt from his voice. 

 

“Oh no, Ginny and I aren’t together,” Harry answered, seeming to have not noticed, “I mean, we kinda were, but she just feels too much like a sister. It would be like dating Ron or Hermione.”

 

Draco couldn’t help but hide a small smile into the next sip of his tea.

 

“Except Ron’s a bloke,” Draco pointed out.

 

Harry shrugged and his hand stopped moving on the paper, “I guess.”

 

Draco wasn’t sure what to read from that. 

 

_ He’s straight , _ his mind insisted,  _ and even if he wasn’t, he’d never go for you.  _

 

Draco sighed and took another sip of his tea.

 

“What about your girlfriend?” Potter asked, abandoning his letter to look up at him. Draco all but choked on his tea.

 

“Bloody hell,” he coughed, “my what?”

 

“Your girlfriend,” Harry continued casually, handing Draco a napkin, “Parkinson.”

 

Draco laughed, “Oh, Salazar, Pansy’s not my girlfriend, Potter. Our parents had hoped we’d get married one day but uh, we’re just really good friends.” 

 

“Oh, so then is all that stuff about Astoria true?”

 

Draco frowned, “Well, before...everything that happened, my father was planning on arranging an eventual marriage between us. Thankfully, it’ll likely never see fruition now.”

 

“Thankfully?” Harry asked, face screwing into confusion, “Astoria’s gorgeous. Though I will say, I’m not a fan of the whole arrangement thing. I’d rather marry someone I love.”

 

“Arranged marriages are very common in pureblood families,” Draco explained dryly, his eyes focused on his reflection in the tea, “It’s a matter of tradition and upholding the family integrity.”

 

“It seems kinda old fashioned.”

 

“Yeah. It is. We are.”

 

“So then if you don’t mind the whole arrangement, what’s wrong with Astoria?”

 

Draco bit his lip and looked out the window again, “She’s not my type.”

 

Harry laughed, “Malfoy, Astoria Greengrass is everyone’s type.”

 

_ Yeah, everyone who’s into girls, maybe,  _ Draco thought. He cleared his throat and opted to not answer, taking another sip of his tea. He’d really hoped to never have to think about the whole Greengrass situation. Neither he nor his mother or father knew anything about who she was, they just knew of the status of her family. They had been very adamant on a swift marriage after her graduation from Hogwarts. So adamant that Draco had wondered if they had started to suspect that Draco was exclusively into boys, which was something he had been under the impression he had kept very hidden. But then, if Pansy had seen it, surely they must have too. For the most part, being gay in the wizarding world wasn’t that big of a deal, at least it wasn’t as nearly looked down on as it was in the muggle world. But in pureblood families that put emphasis on bloodlines and birthrights, there wasn’t room for accepting the fact that a sole heir could be gay. 

 

There were just so many reasons why Draco shouldn’t be gay. He was meant to continue the House of Malfoy. On the off chance Draco did manage to marry a man his family accepted, there would be no chance of adopting. Sure there was surrogacy, but that also depended on a willing pureblood woman. The risk of him not producing an heir was just too high to be acceptable.

 

Then on top of the reasons why Draco shouldn’t be gay, there were just so many reasons why he shouldn’t be in love with Harry. He was a former  _ death eater  _ in love with _ the bloody savior of the wizarding world.  _ If that wasn’t scandalous enough to drive his father to madness before his life sentence in Azkaban did, Draco didn’t know what else was. And as much as his mother seemed to be fawning over the boy, Draco knew it was only to keep up appearances. 

 

His mother didn’t hate Harry, and she was indeed very grateful to him for all he’d done, but she wasn’t exactly different from the person she’d always been. To her credit, she’d never quite joined in with the death eaters. She wasn’t by any means morally innocent, as she was just as guilty as Draco’s father in drilling pureblood and anti-muggle propaganda into his head, but she was never one for violence. And while it was true that she was always disapproving of Voldemort, and even relieved upon his first disappearance, never would she approve of Draco being in love with someone who didn’t encompass their family ideals, which Harry Potter most certainly did not. 

 

The fact of the matter was, Draco Malfoy being in love with Harry Potter was a completely laughable disgrace. Which, Draco figured, wasn’t too unlike himself.

 

Harry, who had decided not to engage Draco in his silence, had finished up his letter and stood to walk into the sitting room to Floo the letter the Weasleys. Draco didn’t have to ask about Hedwig, he had heard from a very upset Voldemort that she had blocked a killing curse shot at Harry. 

 

Finishing his tea and standing to retreat back into his room to do some reading, Draco cast a longing look at the boy who sat in front of the embers in the sitting room. He was simply something Draco could never have. But he didn’t think that would ever stop him from loving him.

 

_ Yeah,  _ Draco reflected,  _ I really am thoroughly and royally fucked . _


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! I was banging my head trying to edit this chapter and I've also been really busy lately. Hope you like!

 

**CHAPTER 5**

 

Harry knocked lightly on the door to Malfoy’s bedroom and waited. He had thought they had a pretty polite conversation over tea that morning, but Malfoy had shut himself up in his room for the day afterwards. Harry had wracked his brain to try and think of something he may have said to offend him, but frankly that could be any word from Harry’s mouth so he didn’t think it worth fretting over.

 

Malfoy opened the door after a moment and crossed his arms before leaning against the doorframe.

 

“Potter,” he said with a nod.

 

“Hey, so, I’m going to dinner with the Weasleys, but there’s spaghetti in the fridge. I put in the microwave a while ago, so that’s down there for you to heat it up,” Harry told him, stepping back, Malfoy’s steady gaze on him feeling a bit heavy, “I don’t know when I’ll be back but just try not to cause a natural disaster while I’m gone.”

 

Malfoy’s lips twitched up into a smile, “I don’t think I can do that from my bedroom, Potter.”

 

“Yeah, well, you’ve been in here all day. You should stretch your legs a bit, mate.”

 

“Who are you? My mother?” Malfoy sassed back, the smile that actually suited him quite nicely still fitted on his face.

 

“Yes,” Harry answered, “My roof, my rules, Malfoy. The sitting room can be nice for reading, and since I’ll be gone you don’t have to worry about avoiding me.”

 

Malfoy’s gaze lowered and he shrugged, “Didn’t know you could read, Potter.”

 

“Oh no, I’m quite illiterate, I’ve only been told by others that it’s nice for reading,” Harry replied back sarcastically, “I’m gonna head off. Have a good evening, Malfoy.”

 

With an awkwardly formal nod, Harry  turned on his heel and made his way back downstairs, trying to push his thoughts on Malfoy’s smile out of his head. Once at the fireplace he grabbed the Floo powder he kept above the mantel, throwing it down and saying “The Burrow” before being whisked away.

 

* * *

 

Harry arrived at The Burrow to see Molly fretting around in the kitchen, wand whipping this way and that as it chopped vegetables and stirred a pot.

 

“Oh, Harry dear!” she gasped on his arrival, “there you are! Ginny! George! Harry’s here!”

 

Harry smiled warmly at her and walked from the living room to the kitchen, hopping up onto the breakfast bar as Ginny and George came down the stairs. 

 

“Hullo, Harry,” George greeted. His hands were in his pockets and his shoulders were slumped. His usually mischievous eyes lacked their usual glint, instead they looked strained.

 

Ginny wasn’t any better off. She looked as though she hadn’t slept in days but she gave Harry a friendly smile once she saw him.

 

“Cocked up situation you got there Harry,” George continued, “you have to live with the devil spawn for a whole summer?”

 

Harry laughed, “Yeah, seems like it. It really hasn’t been too bad so far though.”

 

George frowned and touched Harry’s forehead, “He doesn’t have you imperiused does he? Surely no one can live with Draco Malfoy and not be miserable.”

 

Harry shooed off his hand and shrugged, “He’s been pretty quiet and keeps to himself. But get this, he has no idea what cereal is.”

 

“Blimey, Harry, don’t mention cereal, you’ll have Dad spewing the history of Kellogg and Post all dinner.”

 

Harry jumped off the breakfast bar immediately upon hearing that voice and turned to see Ron with his arm draped around Hermione standing behind him.

 

“Hey!” Harry laughed out in surprise, rushing forward to give them both hugs, “what are you two doing back?”

 

Hermione smiled, “Finding my parents was surprisingly easy. They’re both at St. Mungo’s now getting their memories returned to them, they’ll be okay.”

 

“The healers said Hermione hit them with one hell of an obliviate,” Ron said proudly, wrapping an arm around Hermione’s waist, “said she must really be something to do that at her age.”

 

Hermione blushed and shook her head at Harry who just laughed. 

 

“I’m glad to see you guys back,” Harry said, grinning, “you’ll have to come over sometime.”

 

“Can sometime wait three months? I’ve heard about your situation mate,” Ron told him with a pained expression, “how the hell did Andromeda convince you into that one?”

 

Harry sighed and shrugged, “I feel like I owe her one. And like I told George, it’s really not as bad as it sounds.”

 

“Who are you and what have you done with Harry?” Ron asked dramatically, releasing Hermione to grab Harry’s shoulders.

 

“That’s what  _ I’m _ saying!” George added, coming over to place his hand on Harry’s forehead,  _ again. _

 

Before Harry could shove them off, Hermione saved him.

 

“Boys, please,” Hermione chastised, “at this point, Malfoy’s harmless. I imagine he’s probably docile and brooding.”

 

Harry nodded, “Yeah I suppose that’s a good way to put it. He’s still a bit of an arsehole though.”

 

“At least he provides some eye candy,” Ginny joined in.

 

“ _ What ? _ ” Ron all but squealed.

 

“What?” Ginny replied defensively, “he’s pretty fit, you know if you ignore the fact that he’s an utter git.”

 

“Sure he’s fit, if you’re into posh, platinum blonde, spoiled-”

 

“Oh that’s enough, Ronald,” Hermione sighed.

 

“Oh no, Hermione, don’t tell me you think he’s fit too,” Ron pleaded, looking sick.

 

“Of course not,” Hermione assured him, but the blush that marked her cheeks said otherwise.

 

“It doesn’t quite matter what the ladies think,” George said grinning, “Harry’s the one shacking up with the bloke. So what’s the verdict Harry? Is Posh Platinum in this season?”

 

Harry laughed awkwardly and gave a shrug. He had always thought Malfoy was fit, but like Ginny said his attitude had always ruined his good looks. Though, Harry hadn’t had much issue with him recently. In fact this morning, he’d been rather endearing even though he was still mildly infuriating. Not that Harry was starting to fancy him or anything, it was just an observation is all. 

 

“If you’re all quite finished discussing Draco Malfoy,” Molly’s voice sounded from inside a cupboard where she was collecting plates, “dinner is ready.”

 

* * *

 

__Okay Draco, you can do this_ , _ Draco told himself, staring intently at the words ‘Dinner Plate’,  _ if muggles can do it so can you. _

 

He took a deep breath and nervously eyed the container of spaghetti that sat within the machine. Closing his eyes, he clicked the button.

 

Almost immediately, a loud airy whirring sounded from the machine and the container began rotating inside.

 

“Fuck!” Draco swore, certain that he’d broken it. His eyes hurriedly scanned the buttons on the machine before landing on ‘Stop’ which he clicked promptly.

 

Thankfully, the whirring stopped and Draco freed the container from inside the loud muggle contraption. 

 

Cold spaghetti couldn’t be so bad could it? Draco slumped his shoulders in defeat and sat at the small kitchen table.

 

After a few bites, Draco had accepted that cold spaghetti was tolerable even if it was nowhere near as good as it was when it was warm. And cold spaghetti was very much preferred over the- what was it called? Something wave?  Whatever. It was clearly a modern day torture device for food.

 

Once Draco finished, he put his plate in the sink and made his way into the sitting room. He took a moment to run his hand along the bindings of the books that sat on the elegant bookshelf. From what he gathered there wasn’t a book on it that was published after the early twentieth century. He wondered how much time it would take it read them.

 

His walk along the side of the room lead him to an old piano. Casting a glance at the fireplace, Draco sat down at the stool and placed his hands hesitantly over the keys. After a moment, he played a simple scale and listened to the tune. 

 

_ Off ,  very off ,  _ he thought and pulled his wand out of his pocket, taking a moment to remember the tuning charm he’d learned when he was taught piano.

 

After casting, he pocketed his wand and played the scale again, smiling at the results of his charmwork. He took a second to shake his hands in the air before starting off on the keys, deciding on Beethoven.

 

He had finished through Fur Elise and Sonata Pathetique and had only just started on his favorite, Moonlight Sonata when the fireplace lit green and a familiar figured appeared.

 

* * *

Harry arrived at Grimmauld to the sound of piano, only to have it stop as suddenly as he’d heard it. 

 

Harry stopped out of the fireplace to find a wide-eyed Draco Malfoy gaping at him from the piano.

 

“You play piano?” Harry asked, trying to not laugh at the surprised look on Malfoy’s face.

 

Malfoy schooled his expression and stared down at the piano keys.

 

“I was taught when I was younger. Piano and violin.”

 

Harry raised his eyebrows, “How...aristocratic.”

 

Leave it to the Malfoys to be classically trained.

 

Malfoy shot him a look before he made to stand.

 

“No, wait,” Harry stopped him, not wanting him to leave in poor attitude, “I uh, it would be nice, you know, to hear you play.”

 

Malfoy paused, looking at Harry with a soft blush on his pale face before sitting back down at the piano. Harry felt something stir in his chest at the sight.

 

He shook it off and sat down at the end of the sofa in the middle of the room. He held his breath and waited for Malfoy to play.

 

Sure enough, the beginnings of a familiar song started to play. It took Harry a few seconds to recognize it as Beethoven.

 

_ A muggle composer ,  _ he thought,  _ strange.  _

 

Harry leaned back into the sofa as Malfoy played, watching the boy’s long fingers fall swiftly and gently over the keys. Malfoy’s head and shoulders moved along with the rhythm of the music which he maintained with practiced ease.

 

When he finished, Malfoy turned around on the bench to look at him. Harry found himself nervous under his gray eyes.

 

“Up to your standard, Potter?” Malfoy asked in a cocky tone, but Harry could see the anxious twitch of his lips.

 

Harry blushed and and felt himself smile.

 

“It was good,” Harry answered and swallowed, “Beethoven.”

 

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow, “And I was under the impression you weren’t cultured at all. But yes, Beethoven, Moonlight Sonata.”

 

“He’s a muggle composer,” Harry started, confused, “how did you-“

 

“My piano teacher slipped some of his music in the compositions she gave to me. I’m glad she did too, wizard composers can’t hold a candle to Beethoven. I’m convinced he must be magic in some way.”

 

Harry laughed, “Out of all the people I know, I would’ve never guessed that you’d be the one in love with Beethoven.”

 

Malfoy shrugged, “What can I say, he’s a musical genius and he’s ruggedly handsome.”

 

Harry laughed again at that and saw a shy smile appear on Malfoy’s face. Now that Ginny had reminded him of the fact that Malfoy was indeed attractive, Harry couldn’t help but appreciate the way the soft expression complimented his sharp features.

 

_ Still an asshole _ _,_ his brain weakly tried to remind him.

 

Malfoy stood and stretched his long arms up above his head. Harry caught a glimpse of pale skin where his gray jumper rode up with the movement and quickly looked away.

 

Malfoy walked out of the sitting room and paused at the bottom of the stairs.

 

“Oh, and Potter?”

 

Harry turned his head to look at Malfoy and asked breathlessly,  “yeah?”

 

Malfoy grinned, “Goodnight.”

 

Harry returned the grin and shook his head, Malfoy’s laughter as he climbed the stairs sounding not unlike the music he’d just been playing. 


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY I HAVEN'T UPDATED! I got a job working like 40-60 hours a week and I got a boyfriend (amazing, super cute, love him) but now I'm back at school and surprisingly that means I actually have MORE time to do things XD and I REALLY miss my boy so it'll be nice to have my romantic outlet back again :) Beta read by my lovely skystorm thanks R

The study on the second floor quickly became Draco’s new favorite spot in the house. It had been a few days since Draco had played piano for Harry and he hadn’t stepped foot in the sitting room since. Nor had he and Harry had any particularly engaging conversations, though they had bumped into each other here and there. 

Harry had been oddly more stressed lately and Draco couldn’t figure out why. Granted, Harry was always awkward, but lately he seemed to stutter a bit more and mess with his hair- which Draco had learned, was very distracting. Potter’s hair should be utterly appalling to Draco for many reasons; it was unkempt, long, and it wisped around the frame of his face in a completely unorderly fashion. Draco loved it. And hated it. Hated it because all he wanted to do when he saw it was run his hands through it which then made him want to trail his fingers along the sides of Harry’s jaw and-

It was distracting.

Anyways, Harry was acting weird and it all started with the piano, so Draco decided to not entertain the idea of playing again while Harry was in the house. He wasn’t sure why there was such an issue around him playing piano (it’s a perfectly dignified hobby) or if the issue was actually even connected to the piano, but he wasn’t about to try and understand the inner workings of Harry’s mind.

Draco had also gotten quite tired of spending all of his time in his bedroom. It wasn’t the room’s fault per se, it was just ever since the weather began to get hotter the room got stuffier and Draco found himself branching out. 

The study was wonderful. It had brown leather armchairs that surrounded a beautiful mahogany coffee table and a harp-like instrument in the corner of the room that Draco wouldn’t dream of touching. It seemed more of a piece of decor than a functional instrument. The room’s best feature was the giant cherry wood bookshelves that all but replaced the green walls they were placed in front of.

Draco found it the best place to curl up into himself and read his copy of Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling. He enjoyed reading the theories and then putting the book down to muse on them. And it was during one of the musing moments that Harry decided to peek his head into the study, of course, running a hand through his wild hair.

Draco raised an eyebrow at him, “Potter?”

“I don’t mean to bother you, but there’s someone here to see you. Well, to see me, but she also wants to see you, and she’s downstairs. I told you were probably reading but she said she’d really like to speak to you and-”

Draco raised a hand to stop him with a small smile at his rambling, “Potter, it’s okay. This particularly theory has me almost falling asleep anyways. Who is it?”

Draco couldn’t imagine a single person in the wizarding world who would be keen to see him.

“It’s...it’s Luna,” Harry answered in a gentle voice, “Luna Lovegood.”

Draco felt his heart fall at the name and he gingerly set his book on the coffee table.

“And she wants to see me?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah, it seems to mean a lot to her that she does.”

“I’ll be down in a second, I just...need a moment,” Draco told him, trying to steady his shaking hands.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, “we’ll be downstairs.”

Harry left the room and Draco took a deep breath. The last time he’d seen Luna had been in the dungeon at Malfoy Manor. Despite being imprisoned and laughed at and toyed with by the death eaters that would come by the house, she had never broke down in her character. To say that Draco was particularly fond of Luna Lovegood was an understatement; he admired her deeply. He’d tried his best while she was there to give her an easier time, slipping chocolates into the meals he’d carry down and listening to her as she talked about several magical creatures that may or may not be real, but if they pleased Luna they were good enough for Draco. 

He wasn’t sure why she would want to talk to him now, though. He couldn’t imagine that any part of her would want to see him again. Surely his presence would only bring up bad memories. But, if Draco had learned anything about Luna, it’s that one couldn’t begin to anticipate or understand her, and if she thought something was a good idea you should definitely follow through with it.

Besides, if she wished to see him, Draco owed her that much.

Collecting his nerves, he stood and made his way down the stairs. Seeing the back of her head, hair the same color as his own, he felt emotions twist in his chest again. He remembered how wild it had been from days kept unwashed, how the white blonde color was dulled. 

“Oh, Draco!” Luna announced, acknowledging his presence even before she and Harry turned around, “I’m so happy to see you.”

“Why?” Draco asked in a quiet voice.

Luna simply smiled and patted the spot next to her, “Do come sit.”

Draco followed her orders, sitting down next to her, unable to stop the relief he felt upon seeing how healthy she looked. Her eyes had never and would never change, always carrying the same brightness, but her skin was bright and her cheeks round. 

Luna was looking at him with a genuine smile.

“Why, Draco, you look so much better than you did before,” she told him, reaching up to touch his face, “look at that! There’s no more shadows on your face! Oh, isn’t he so handsome, Harry?”

“Uh,” Harry said eloquently, looking awkward, “yep.”

Draco bit down a laugh before Luna turned to Harry and patted his arm.

“Oh, Harry, don’t you worry, Draco thinks you’re handsome too.”

Draco stilled and glared at Harry, who was now wearing the same amused expression he had been wearing just a moment ago.

“Oh yes,” Draco said, waving his hand and praying his blush stays down, “I heard that atrocious hair and spectacles are really in nowadays.”

“Thanks, Malfoy,” Harry told him, grinning.

Luna continued to smile as if she hadn’t just successfully embarrassed both of them and reached out to touch Draco’s arm.

“Really, Draco, I am quite pleased to see you,” she said, gazing up at him, “I would hug you but I don’t think you’d like that.”

“Luna, I-” he started before looking away from her big blue eyes, “I’m so sorry about what happened to you.”

“Oh, I know,” she said, “I’m not angry or upset with you. In fact, I’d like to say thank you for being such a friend to me. And I would also like to know what brand of chocolates you used to give me, they were really quite good.”

Draco blinked at her in surprise, “Uh, they were La Maison du Chocolat truffles, they’re French.”

“They were also very delicious,” Luna said happily, “didn’t your mother spend some time in France?”

“She did, for a little while,” Draco answered, “her mother was French. I’m sure I have some relatives living there. Not that they’d be keen to know me.”

“Wait, so do you know any French?” Harry chimed in.

Draco looked at him and raised an eyebrow, “J’en connais.”

Harry flushed slightly, “What’s that mean?”

“I know some,” Draco smiled, “assez pour vou insulter avec.”

Harry blinked at him and looked at Luna who shrugged.

“I most certainly don’t know any French,” Luna told him, “but, Harry, would you mind so terribly as to make me a cup of tea?”

“No, I can do that,” Harry told her, “chamomile, right?”

Luna smiled and Harry stood before looking at Draco.

Draco felt himself blush at the acknowledgement and shook his head, “I’m alright.”

Harry nodded and set off to the kitchen.

“So is it hard?” Luna asked in a whisper, leaning in towards Draco.

“What?” Draco asked, confused.

“Living with someone you’re in love with.”

Draco felt his blood freeze and he glanced briefly at the kitchen before swallowing.

“I don’t know what you’re on about, Luna,” he said slowly, a warning in his voice.

“Oh, it’s alright, I don’t mind that you are,” Luna told him, “and also, he can’t hear us anyways.”

Draco tried to fight down the panic that was quickly rising inside of him. Nobody, and he meant nobody knew about how he felt about Harry. Pansy may have her suspicions but she definitely didn’t know for sure. Trust Luna to be able to see the thing Draco had thought he kept so carefully hidden. 

“Luna,” he began carefully in a quiet voice, “I would really rather not discuss this.”

Luna sighed and looked at him sadly, “You’re allowed to want things, Draco. Even if you think you don’t deserve them.”

“I could live a lifetime undoing what I’ve done and not deserve him, Luna,” Draco whispered, “I don’t want to want something I could never have.”

“I don’t believe in the concept of never,” Luna told him, “I think hope is too strong for never to exist.”

“Me hoping would change nothing,” Draco said bitterly, “it would just make it worse.”

“Or,” Luna started with a glint in her eyes, “it could make it better.”

Harry came back to the room then carrying a cup of chamomile tea for Luna.

“Oh, why thank you Harry,” she said, smiling up at him.

“Of course,” Harry told her before sitting down beside her again.

“I’m afraid though that I won’t have a chance to finish it,” she told him, “I have to leave very soon.”

“Yeah? Where are you off to?” Harry asked.

“Lunch with Ginny,” she answered, “I think we’re becoming quite close.”

“Weren’t you always?” 

For the first time since Draco has known her, Luna blushed.

“Well, we have always been good friends, yes,” she answered, reaching for her purse.

Draco raised both eyebrows and shared a look with Harry, who looked very confused.

“Well, tell her I said hi,” Harry said, standing up with Luna and leading her to the door. Draco sighed and stood to follow.

“Will do,” Luna promised, and pressed a kiss to Harry’s cheek.

“And Draco,” she started, turning to him, “do keep in mind what I’ve said.”

Draco smirked, “Sure. I hope that you and Ginny have a nice outing together.”

A blush appeared for the second time on Luna’s cheeks.

“We will. You and Harry be good to one another, now,” she said, opening the door and turning back to them, “goodbye!”

When the door was closed, Draco looked at Harry.

“Why didn’t she take the Floo?”

Harry smiled and shrugged, “Apparently she’s driving now.”

“Like, in a car?”

Harry nodded.

“Merlin, that’s a daunting idea,” Draco muttered and turned and made his way to the staircase, the sweet safety of the study and his book calling to him.


	7. Chapter Seven

_ “Harry Potter is dead!” _

 

_ The all too familiar voice boomed and Draco felt his entire world collapse at his feet. He had too look, he had to, he had to be sure- _

 

_ There. Harry in Hagrid’s arms. Limp. Unmoving. Draco felt sick. _

 

_ No, no, no, no, NO! _

 

_ It was all over, Voldemort had won, Harry was gone. _

_  
_ _ Harry was gone. _

 

_ “Get up,” Draco whispered, “Get up, Harry.” _

 

_ Somewhere in his mind, Draco knew Harry was supposed to get up. But he just laid there. _

 

_ “He’s gone, Draco,” Voldemort said looking at him straight in the eyes, “Harry Potter is dead.” _

 

_ “No,” Draco said, feeling the world go up in flames. Voldemort smiled at him, a twisted smile and Harry’s body appeared at his feet, the flames licking at his skin, “Harry.” _

 

_ Draco tried to run forward but something stopped him. Hands, grabbing at his feet, at his arms, at his chest, shaking him.  Burnt hands attached to burnt arms attached to gaunt white faces. Crabbe, Fred, Nymphadora... _

 

_ “Please,” he cried, “Please, let me go. Let me go, I need him, Harry, please-” _

_ - _

 

Draco woke up to his name being called worriedly. It took him a moment to register the face above him and the hands that clutched his shoulders as Harry’s.

 

Draco’s chest rose and fell sharply and he swallowed thickly. Harry’s wide green eyes were looking at him with concern. Draco felt cold and and realized that he must’ve kicked his comforter off the bed. 

 

“Are you okay?” Harry asked quietly.

 

The situation hit Draco immediately. Harry was in his room, holding his shoulders, his  _ bare  _ shoulders might he add. Of course his mind would choose to give him a very vocal nightmare on the night he’d chosen to sleep in his pants.

 

“Off,” he croaked out, “Potter, off, please.”

 

As if unaware that he was still clutching Draco, Harry pulled back. He grabbed the comforter off the floor as Draco sat up against the headboard.

 

“You were crying out in your sleep,” Harry told him, tossing the comforter at the end of his bed, “I thought I heard…”

 

Draco looked away from him. His name. Draco had been crying out for him in his sleep.

 

“You know,” Harry started carefully, sitting down on the bed, “it sounds like bullshit, but talking about them really does help. Or at least, getting them out there. Hermione has me write mine down and burn them.”

 

Draco didn’t want to look at him and he certainly didn’t want to talk to him. 

 

“Leave, Potter,” he whispered hoarsely.

 

When he didn’t, Draco elected to ignore his presence until he left. He reached to turn on his desk light and grabbed his book before sitting down and opening it.

 

A sharp intake of breath caused him to look up, Harry’s eyes were focused on Draco’s chest.

 

“What?” Draco asked, his heart beating faster.

 

Harry reached out a hand as if to touch Draco before putting it back down.

 

“Those scars,” he said quietly.

 

_ Oh. Those. _

 

Harry hesitating and took a breath before asking, “Are those-”

 

“Yes. They are. Forget about it.”

 

Harry looked up at Draco then, “I’m sorry.”

 

Draco scowled at him and threw his book aside.

 

“Do you really think I care about those scars? Do you really think that anything on my body could be worse than this?” 

 

Draco held out his left forearm, dark mark on full display in the lamplight.

 

Harry looked at it briefly before looking away. Draco felt like he’d be sick.

 

“I’m sorry for hurting you that day.”

 

“I deserved it,” Draco told him abruptly, “don’t ever feel bad about it.”

 

Harry shook his head, “You were in enough pain that year. And I shouldn't have used a spell that I didn’t know.”

 

“It doesn’t matter. Really, it doesn’t bother me.”

 

_ Please, leave, _ Draco pleaded. He couldn’t do this right now. He pushed his sweaty hair off of his forehead.

 

Harry looked back at him with soft eyes, “Come downstairs, I’ll make you tea.”

 

“I’m more of a tea in the morning kind of guy,” Draco countered.

 

“Chamomile helps with the nerves,” Harry told him, “and it’s three am.”

 

He wished he had a smartass retort to that but considering  Harry’s eyes were pleading at him there was only so much thinking he could do.

 

“I’m going to get clothes on,” Draco said, relenting.

 

Harry nodded and stood, “Fair enough.”

 

He left and Draco took the time to breathe for a few beats before standing up. He pulled on a black t shirt and gray cotton pajama bottoms before heading downstairs to where Harry was putting the kettle on. Draco sat at the table and folded his hands, staring at his knuckles.

 

“Sometimes I dream about the people who’ve died,” Harry says, grabbing two mugs, “sometimes, or most of the time, I dream about being dead. Nagini is strangling me in some way and Voldemort is talking to me. Sometimes I relive the dreams I had where I could see through Voldemort’s eyes as he killed.”

 

“Don’t,” Draco stopped him, “let’s not talk about it.”

 

“Talking about it helps, I promise,” Harry told him, pouring the hot water, “even if some of them were real, it’s all over. What happened can’t be changed and now we just have to move on.”

 

“You don’t understand," Draco whispered, closing his eyes, “It was all my fault. Every death that night was my fault.”

 

“You didn’t cast the killing curses on them,” Harry firmly stated, sitting down at the table and handing Draco his tea, “their deaths are not your fault.”

 

“I helped them get into the castle, I helped them get around defenses,” Draco told him, his breath coming quicker and tears burning against his eyes, “it’s because of me that Edward has no parents, it’s my fault that the Weasleys are one short, it’s my fault that Cr-Crabbe died, and it would’ve been my fault had you died too. You should’ve never spoken for me at the trials. I’m a murderer. I belong in Azkaban.”

 

His breaths were shallow now and he balled his hands into tight, shaking fists. Harry reached out to tentatively touch one, causing Draco to flinch.

 

“You need to calm down,” Harry whispered.

 

Draco shook his head but tried to calm his breathing.

 

“You made a choice to protect yourself and your parents, I get that. You did what you were told. If you didn’t do those things someone else would have. Besides, it’s because of you that we were able to make it as far as we did. If you had given the three of us up at the Manor, it would’ve been over then and there.”

 

Draco refused to meet Harry’s eyes and he lifted his mug up in trembling hands to sip his tea.

 

“And if any one person is to blame for what happened that night, it’s Voldemort,” Harry continued, “what you did was wrong but nobody’s death is on your hands. You’ve got to forgive yourself and move on from it.”

 

There was silence after that.

 

“I dream of you dying,” Draco softly admitted after a while, “except this time you don’t wake up. And he wins.”

 

“I can assure you that I am very much alive, and Voldemort is very much dead,” Harry replied, “there’s no coming back this time.”

 

Draco nodded. 

 

There didn’t talk after that. They just finished their tea together at the small table until Draco stood up and announced that he was going to bed. 

 

He dreamt of Harry again. But this time he was smiling at him over the Quidditch field, golden snitch flitting around his shoulders like a tamed bird. Draco felt stuck in the air, rendered immobile by Harry's windswept hair and bright green eyes. He was good and content, and as he promised in the waking world, very much alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes back at the end! Thank you for reading, also I know I was doing some weird indent thing when I was first writing this and I have no idea why so let me know which format reads better and I'll change the whole work to that format :)

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by my clever and lovely friend @Skystorm14113


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